


A Little Bit Broken (But We'll Put Each Other Back Together Again)

by TheSightlessSniper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, And all three of them are fucked up, Cas is insecure, Incest, M/M, Multi, Other, References to Torture, Sibling Incest, mentions of Lucifer torturing people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSightlessSniper/pseuds/TheSightlessSniper
Summary: "Yes, he and Dean had started with the more profound bond. But it’s Sam who he let in first, let have against the stained stucco of a filthy abandoned building while Dean worked with other hunters to take down demons just a few rooms away, whose name he moaned against heated skin as he’d been pounded into mercilessly."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Wincestiel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	A Little Bit Broken (But We'll Put Each Other Back Together Again)

**Author's Note:**

> It's been nearly a year since I uploaded! And...now I upload a fic containing incest. Wincestiel, to be exact.
> 
> If you are triggered in any way by:  
> \-- incest  
> \-- mentions of torture  
> \-- the ships involved (Wincest, Sastiel, Destiel, Wincestiel),
> 
> ...then please close this tab/window NOW. I do not want to trigger you with the content, and your mileage with the content can and WILL vary to others.
> 
> I am slightly out of practice in the writing department (I've been working on other fics but I still feel out of practice!), so I apologise if this is hot garbage on a silver platter!

As he feels Dean sink down, Sam wriggle underneath him and slide a little further inside, he feels like he’s only there to be a barrier.

When he’d first noted the strange sensations between them, he couldn’t remember. Maybe it had been when he’d broken down the wall in Sam’s mind, let the Lucifer hallucinations roam free and violate his ability to sleep (amongst other things). When he’d taken the load away from him, Cas had experienced some of those hallucinations himself, his mind thrown from side to side as Lucifer tortured him instead. Some of them he could still clearly recall. _You actually like these boys, don’t you, Castiel? You’ve grown to really love them. It would be a real shame if something were to permanently put them out of business…like a car accident, or a drop off a mountain. You know I could arrange that, right? And d’you know what’s a fun way to kill someone? IMMOLATION. Nothing like the smell of barbecuing human flesh first thing in the morning, I can tell ya that now, Cassy. Taste is pretty good too_. The speech had gone on, and on, and when Cas thought for a second that the meds that Meg was pushing into his vessel at the word of the doctors were actually working, Lucifer would wake him up again, cackling in his ear, playing an infernal harmonica, smashing pots and pans and shaking the bed below him until he was awake and crawling back against the headboard with tears pouring in rivers down his face.

He’s never, ever told Sam that Lucifer broke him too. He can’t. He can’t put that on either of them.

Dean’s shaking, the hand balancing him on Cas’ stomach tensing. He shifts a little, gasps, eyes rolling back; he’s pressing just in the right spot. ‘Fuck…there…’ It’s so breathy he almost doesn’t hear it, and he’s not sure Sam hears it at all.

He wants to ask if it feels as good as Sam feels in him, but he doesn’t want to speak, doesn’t want Dean reminded Sam’s there, or vice-versa. It’s selfish, he knows it, and he loves them both more than words could ever profess, but he’s not sure their love of each other can stretch enough to accomodate him. Not really. They love him, he’s at least partly sure of that. But maybe not as much as they love each other.

Sam starts the ball rolling, lifting both of them easily with strong hips. He feels incredible inside him, inciting the moan that had been caught in Cas’ throat to spill out of its own accord. Dean cries out, head tipping back, and Cas hears Sam moan softly. ‘Dean…Ca—’

‘Fuck…Cas...Sam—’

They’d started with a slightly more profound bond. He’d raised Dean from perdition, leaving that burning mark on his shoulder. He’d scarred his and Sam’s bones, carved protection symbols into their ribcages so angels after their blood couldn’t find them. Dean was easier to talk to in some ways; if there was something he did not like, he said it. He gave as good as he got, made them both laugh, laughed at him and with him in a way that never felt malicious.

Sam was easier to talk to when it pertained to a case, or when there was something they couldn’t—shouldn’t—tell Dean. There had been one instance of a relapse, Sam drinking the dregs of a demon’s blood on a blade without thinking or hesitating, and Cas had used whatever was in his power—as much grace as he could spare—to prevent the addiction gripping before Sam had spiralled again. He’d pushed addiction into remission in an instant, but Sam had remained high, powerful, devastating as his body radiated darkness. That had been the first time he and Sam had kissed, and it had been easy for him; angels don’t discriminate—as genderless beings, how could they?—and Sam had smelled and sounded and felt so _good_ as he had pressed him up against a wall in a blood-drunk fumble. Yes, he and Dean had started with the more profound bond. But it’s Sam who he let in first, let have against the stained stucco of a filthy abandoned building while Dean worked with other hunters to take down demons just a few rooms away, whose name he moaned against heated skin as he’d been pounded into mercilessly.

It’s silly, hypocritical of him to be jealous when he and Sam had this first. They’d hidden it as well as they could in close proximity to Dean, stealing kisses when he wandered into Gas ’n’ Sips for snacks on the road, lingering in the garage of the bunker to make out on the back seat of the Impala like teenagers. The second time, Sam had been sober, and taken him over the trunk of the Impala, leading him through two orgasms that had splattered the ground and the shining black paintwork with the only evidence anyone had even been down there.

When he’d almost pummelled Dean’s face into pieces, stopping only to heal him before disappearing into the night, he’d reappeared to him later, descending into ragged sobs he couldn’t control and scared him, and Dean had rolled his eyes. Then tugged him into his embrace. ‘No harm leftover, no foul, right?’ he’d whispered against his ear as he’d pulled back. In the haze of tears and the throbbing temple from the guilt, Cas had surged forward, and Dean hadn’t stopped him.

The contrast was like night and day between the two brothers; Sam commanded with his hands, liked to pin down his own as he drove him insane, where Dean’s hands gave way, moved with him, liked to feel and fondle flesh and lace fingers between fingers as they moved together. Sam was rough, but never brutal. Dean was gentle, but never soft.

In that vein, Dean lifts himself up, slips back down and moves them all. The base of Sam’s erection pushes against that sensitive spot inside Cas, and between that and the slicked, hot flesh clenching around his length, the moan-whimper-gasp comes out by itself. The breathless ‘Cas—’ against his ear before Sam thrusts back up sends tears to his eyes.

They’re brothers linked by blood. It’s a connection that’s cruel in its kindness; they can never do what Sam and Cas, or Dean and Cas can do in public. Society, laws, the built-in human genetics that should have pushed them away from these kind of feelings for good…those things don’t exist in the bunker, at least not anymore. Maybe all the fucked up things, all the dying for each other and the demon blood and the dalliances with other dark things broke the levee on something that had been under the surface for a long time, because Cas walked in one night to see the failure of all these failsafes in Sam’s hand gripping the couch above his head, shaking and gasping with smiling lips as Dean’s mouth sucked and his fingers flicked and thrusted inside him.

They said they’d figure it out. Sex felt good, but it didn’t feel like figuring it out.

Maybe he’s always been a barrier. The prophylactic. The thing made of flesh that holds them just far enough apart so the times they are together, doing these things to each other while Cas showers them with kisses and touches and whispers of love, it feels slightly less wrong. He realises he’s the perfect way to pretend; if he’s between them, they’re fucking him, not each other, and they can still pretend to be normal brothers at the end of it instead of acknowledging that they screamed a breathy combination of ‘Cas’ and each other’s names as they came. He’s the faulty logic, the way that they can still have that forbidden connection, still come over each other’s mouths and inside each other’s bodies without it being as sinful. _It can’t be incest if Cas is there too_.

He tears up even more as the motions of sex happen above him, below him. He feels everything, detached but so intrinsically connected between them that he can’t escape. They slow down, then speed up, Sam losing it at some point and babbling about how good Cas’ ass feels around his dick—‘Fuck, Dean, want you around me too, want you inside, want you both fucking me’—and Dean comes across his stomach, quaking and collapsing forward into the mess and sucking lazily on Cas’ collarbone as they continue. Cas whines through the pleasure, fights through the heartache, and feels Dean shudder again as he fills him with everything he has.

As they catch their breaths, disentangle their limbs from one another, Sam catches Dean’s mouth with a grin, kisses his chin, his cheeks, the line of his jaw, and Dean reciprocates, laying one, two, three across Sam’s throat and shoulder. Cas lies there through the wet noises, presses his eyes shut tight, and maybe he stays quiet for too long, because a hand finds his shoulder, pulls him onto his back. His eyes blink open, suddenly facing Dean wearing a look he can’t read when it’s directed at him.

One of Dean’s calloused and scarred hands drifts from shoulder to throat to chest to face. His eyes look glazed over, intoxicated, enraptured as Sam collapses onto the mattress next to them and crawls to lie lazily next to his brother. Sam’s hand wraps around one of Cas’ knees, and he kisses the side of it, following the leg up until just before it becomes his hip before setting it back down.

Sam rests his head on his thigh, rubs one hand across his hip soothingly, concerned. ‘You okay? Did we hurt you?’

He says nothing. Dean’s hand against his face grasps his chin, sober and suddenly serious. ‘Cas? Talk to us. Did you change your mind?’

‘If you did, you should have told us. We would have—’

‘This isn’t just us. You’re as much a part of this as us—‘

‘We love you, Cas. We could have stopped if—’

_We love you_. The words sound alien.

Dean lies next to him, arms seeking his waist and forehead pressing into the place where the top of his shoulder and arm meet. ‘Cas, please. We want this to work, we love you.’

The conversation, the questions of whether the feelings really are equal, had to come up at some point. He shakes his head, reaches a hand for each of them to take. ‘I love you both so much, it hurts.’

Once the first question comes out, it’s as if the dam breaks. The conversation about feelings that none of them have had yet—have been too scared to have—go back and forth, the truth spilling out. Cas is stunned to hear Dean confess he knew about them, and how sick—how envious and hurt that he wasn’t a part of it—he felt. Sam already knows about the one time that happened between him and Cas before now, and rolls his eyes. ‘Does it really matter now?’ It doesn’t, but damn it if it doesn’t feel better when it’s off their chests.

When it gets to Dean and Sam, the conversation stills, one of them waiting for the other to tell. Of course it’s harder; there’s layers of things that are wrong and fucked up and dangerous about their relationship now, far beyond their everlasting penchant for sacrificing their lives for the other.

Sam breaks first, recounts how Ruby played tricks on him, use her powers as a demon to warp his perception, make him think about Dean in ways that should have repulsed him in the almost ecstasy-like dream-state of a deep drink, and using them against him when he’d been flying high on demon blood. When he’d come down, detoxed from the poison, the feelings had stayed behind.

Dean’s was in Hell. Torn apart, put back together again over, and over, and over. His arm tightens around Cas’ waist as he remembers and retells of how he was whipped, beaten, bent over and abused, how the ones punishing him would fuck him between each time to make him feel pleasure so he’d feel the pain even more when it came. He’d latched onto something, anything he could to stay sane through the abuse, and it had been Sam.

No secrets between them anymore. Cas explains, whispers of the feeling that’s plagued him since they decided to try this, through every encounter they’d shared. Dean holds him tight, and Sam crawls up his body to kiss up his chest, leaving a wet trail of lip marks and tears in his wake. He hates their tears, doesn’t want to cause them, doesn’t want to be responsible for their pain.

Dean’s voice shakes when he speaks, face wet against his upper arm. ‘Don’t you ever think that. You’re everything to us. You and Sam, there’s nothing else. Don’t you dare think you’re anything less.’

Sam noses into his other shoulder, kisses again. ‘You’re the reason we’re both still here. Fuck, Cas, I love you and Dean so much, I’m not sure I can lose one of you again without it killing me.’

The tears dry up. His eyelids droop. Cas doesn’t sleep, but he feels like he needs to, like the emotional drain is enough to overpower his angelic nature. How humans are not permanently tired, he doesn’t know; feelings are so draining. ‘Sleep here, please?’

‘Well, thanks to you, not sure I can move far anyway.’ Dean wipes away the last of his own tears, smiles back tiredly. ‘We should shower, though.’

‘In the morning, Dean,’ Sam mumbled, curling closer to Cas. ‘You both wore me out to the point my legs might not make it that far.’

As Cas listens to them drift off to sleep, he lets himself smile.


End file.
